


Reflection

by basketofnovas (slashmarks)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmarks/pseuds/basketofnovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany is not going to open his eyes and look at himself. It would only be embarrassing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from kinkmeme. Request was for Germany riding Italy and being embarrassed and noisy, and for the stallion line at the end.

There is lube trickling down Germany's thigh.

His breath comes in short, harsh gasps. He has long since closed his eyes against the sight of himself in the bedroom mirror, but the lube trickling down his inner thigh brings it back to his mind's eye.

He can see himself – his flush face, his head thrown back, his fingers on Italy's hips.

Italy's hips, grinding against him, barely moving, because he is doing the moving. He is straddling Italy's lap, naked and spread open – displayed, clearly visible in the mirror over Italy's shoulder if he opened his eyes which he _will not_ – like a, like a whore.

He bites back a whimper from his lips, and Italy's hand is suddenly on his face, stroking his cheek. “It's okay,” his lover gasps, “Ti amo, you're okay, I love you, I like hearing you.”

Germany shakes his head and bites at his lips more, controlling his voice, controlling himself – the parts that he can control. His hips grind desperately against Italy. He is bucking, bouncing on him, fucking himself.

“Come on,” Italy gasps, and kisses him.

He has to open his mouth now. He will always open, always give to Italy, and now that he is open against him he can't stop himself from moaning.

Italy gives an answering moan, nibbling against his lips and down his jaw, and that is – better, because Ludwig can set it again and stop himself from making those noises. His hands on Italy's back loosely trail upwards and he buries them in Italy's hair until his lover does something sharp with his hips and he finds himself clinging tightly, arms around Italy, breathing out a soft “Oh, yes...”

“I can't hear you, sweetie,” Italy chides, but he shakes his head.

“Yes,” Italy says firmly, and catches Germany's hips, holding him still. The sudden loss of friction makes him gasp and struggle briefly, but Italy is stronger than he looks and besides Germany has been here, struggling towards orgasm, for so long his legs are weak. He lets out a whine of protest before flushing harder and trapping the noise back in his throat where it belongs.

Italy taps his nose with two fingers lightly, chiding. “You know I like to hear you! You're so shy,”and he kisses Germany's cheeks, laughing in delight. “But  _so_ sweet.

“Italy,” he protests.

“I know!” Italy says as though he has suddenly come up with a wonderful plan.

“Mm?”

“Beg me.”

“I – can't--” he protests again, until Italy taps his lips and he subsides.

“Beg.”

“Please?” he asks. His mouth is very dry, voice cracking, and he tries again. “Please, Italy?”

“Please, what?”

He whines, now unable to contain himself, and grinds a little against Italy, to receive another nose tap. “You're not being very good today! Maybe we should just stop now.”

“Italy!” He can _hear_ the smirk. Italy is surprisingly wicked in bed. 

“Mhmm?”

“Please, fuck me?” His face is on _fire_ , and his neck and shoulders too and possibly other places (Italy laughed the first time and asked if he flushed _everywhere_ when he had his clothes on, too).

Italy rewards him for his progress with a hip twitch that makes him twitch and shudder, but then, “Was that what we were doing, Germany?” he asks, chiding again.

“No.” There is silence. Italy is quiet sometimes, when it will get him what he wants. “I – please, let me ride you?” And Italy is stroking his hair with one hand but the other is still pinning his hips so he continues, “Please. I need you, you can use me, I'm yours, let me fuck myself on you--” Italy kisses him hard and he trails off against his lips and teeth.

“In Italian, now,” he says when Germany is panting for breath.

Oh. Fuck. “Per favore?” he fumbles, repeats twice until he can dredge up the right words to ask to be allowed to come. He thinks he remembers it faster than last time, which is perhaps something to be proud of.

Then, finally, the pressure lifts and he is free again to act out his words.

“Good,” Italy murmurs into his skin, “Love you, you're so good, such a _good_ slut...”

His face is on fire and he opens his eyes by accident and sees himself in the mirror over Italy's shoulders, and that, Italy's good slut, is  _exactly_ what he sees as he comes.

Italy murmurs praise, “Good, I love you, sweetie, my dearest,” and since Ludwig is limp and shaking with aftershocks he pulls Germany down and rolls them over to fuck him into the mattress for three, four, five more strokes until he follows himself.

After, Italy strokes him through his shivers and holds water to his lips, and when Ludwig is still burning with embarrassment thinking about that image of himself in the mirror, with drool trickling from the corner of his mouth and lube and precum smeared on his thighs and bitemarks on his neck, distracts him thoroughly by whispering: “You saved a stallion!”

“ _What?”_

“By riding an Italian!” He collapses into giggles against Germany, and Germany muffles his face in Italy's chest and it's a lot funnier than it could be at _any_ other conceivable time.

At least they can be embarrassed together when they get up.


End file.
